Another brother
by flagma
Summary: There was a third brother. John finds photos and questions why he has never heard of this mysterious Holmes. This is based on my own head cannons on the third brother and of others whose I believe.


AN: age difference between Sherlock and Sherrinford is 9 years, Between Mycroft and Sherlock 7, which makes Mycroft and Sherrinford 2 years apart. (However Sherlock birthday is early January so even if ages don't match just means all their birthdays haven happened yet) I believe these are the cannon age differences.

* * *

John was rifling through Sherlock's wardrobe. They had finally after all the years they knew each other, all the kidnappings, the lies, a fake suicide, a failed marriage and a child that was not his, had gotten their act together and were now a couple. They (Sherlock) had decided that Sherlock's room would be theirs because he had the bigger bed and the room upstairs was too cold. Honestly John didn't mind, Sherlock bed was much comfier and he was never cold, although that might have something to do with his sleeping companion. But Sherlock still hadn't moved his stuff to make room for Johns, so John was doing it for him. John was sorting though Sherlock's clothes, throwing the T-shirts that had been tossed in carelessly onto the bed (which John would later fold and put away properly) when he found the box at the bottom of the wardrobe.

It was medium size box, high quality polished wooden box. It was lockable, with a small brass key in the lock. John froze. The first thought to come to mind was that it was Sherlock's secret stash. But the more he thought about it, the more it didn't make sense. Sherlock would have a much better hiding place for one. For two Sherlock was clean, as per the agreement they made when they got together (John would not be with an addict, full stop.) He only relapsed the last time partly because of a case, partly because he didn't have John anymore. John hesitated. The only way to find out what was in the box was to open it but that would be an invasion of privacy. John thought of all the times Sherlock invaded his privacy and Sherlock had said there need not be any secrets between then. With that in mind John picked up the box and placed in on the floor in front of him. Then he turned the key and opened the box.

Photos. The box was nearly full with photos, although there did seem to be other bits and bobs at the bottom of the box. John picked up a photo it showed what must be Sherlock as a kid, wearing a pirate hat and eye patch, caught mid turn, as if the person had just called to him. Also in the photo was a rust coloured dog. John turned the photo over and written on the back was Sherlock (7) and Redbeard (6). John didn't know what to think, he opened the box not knowing what to find but it certainly wasn't childhood photos of a beloved family pet.

John picked up another photo. In this one was again Sherlock but this time there was another person in it. Sherlock looked younger than he did in the other photo by a few years and he was being picked up by another boy in his teens, showing form the teens waist up, both grinning at the camera, standing with a field behind them. Sherlock was again wearing a pirate hat and the teen was wearing a paper hat, the kind you fold from newspaper. John thought the teen was Mycroft, he had enough of the same characteristics to match what he may have looked at as a teen, red hair, calculating look and a similar bone structure but there were some notable differences. The teen in this photo has a smaller nose and his eyes were the exact same colour, a mix of blue green and grey as Sherlock's, not the blue that Mycroft's were. John turned it over. In the same italic script as before, William (5) and Sherrinford (14). John stared at the words. Sherrinford. He had never heard of him. But he had to be a Holmes, had to be related somehow to have that many characteristics with the brothers. But John had heard nothing of him, nothing from him and could help but feel there was a bad story behind the reason why.

John looked though a few more photos and John had decided that Sherlock must have loved this Sherrinford a lot, keeping all these photos of them together. They must have been very close, closer than Sherlock and Mycroft as so far the only photo that he'd seen with Mycroft in it was an obviously posed photo of the three of them, Sherrinford, Mycroft and Sherlock together. Sherrinford was behind them both and had placed a hand on Mycroft's shoulder, the other pressing Sherlock to Mycroft's side. All three were posing for the camera, all three smiling at the camera, but John couldn't help feeling unnerved at the pairs of eyes glaring at the camera, the feeling was similar as to when he went to the aquarium as a child and was looking in the shark tank. On the back was written Sherrinford (15), Mycroft (13) & Sherlock (6). John couldn't understand why he hadn't heard of the man who was so obviously cared about. The bedroom door opened and John turned to see Sherlock standing in the doorway.

"John I ..." Sherlock trailed off he realised what John was looking at.

"Sherlock, sorry I... I was making room in the wardrobe and found the box and I was curious and ..." John fumbled.

"It's fine John." Sherlock told him.

"No I shouldn't have..."

"John its fine." Sherlock assured him.

Sherlock moved around the bed and sat next to John, picking up one of the photos. This one showed Sherrinford sitting on his motorbike with Sherlock balancing in front of him, where Sherlock had insisted that Sherrinford give him a ride. It was one of the last photos Sherlock had of him. On the back written in neat script Sherrinford (19) & Sherlock (10). Sherlock smiled at the memory. Though he didn't much care for sentiment there were some exceptions he allowed himself, John being the biggest.

"So who was he?" John asked.

"Sherrinford was my eldest brother by nine years." Sherlock replied.

John next question caught in his throat so he talked about something else.

"So, you had a dog. You don't look the type"

Sherlock looked at him, knowing that wasn't what he was going to say.

"Yes I did, I named him Redbeard and we re-homed him when he was four years old, it was my fifth birthday present and Sherrinford and Daddy helped me look after him. Mycroft didn't like him."

"You must have loved him" John said.

"He was my only friend, I was distraught when I found out he actually died"

"What do you mean?"

(Flashback)

Sherlock was at the making his way o is room to get the rest of Redbeard's toys. Sherrinford had come down from university early to take the toys to the farm where Redbeard was. Mummy and Daddy won't let him go because he had school and was too young to be allowed to skip the Sherrinford. Sherrinford had already taken Redbeard to the farm the day before and had only gotten back half an hour ago so it must be far away. Before Sherlock could get to his room Mycroft had intercepted him.

"Move I need to get Redbeards toys." Sherlock growled.

"Why he doesn't need them where he is" Mycroft snipped back.

"Of course he does, it must be really boring on a farm all day" Sherlock replied

"You really are stupid Sherlock you actually believe that." Mycroft crowed.

"Of...of course it`s true" Sherlock stammered.

Sherlock could just about here the thuds of someone climbing the stairs over the blood rushing to his ears.

"Gone to live on a farm." Mycroft scoffed.

The movement on the stairs stopped and Sherlock though his heart had stopped.

"He's dead Sherlock, there is no farm, grow up, Redbeard is dead." Mycroft hissed.

Suddenly Sherlock saw Sherrinford was at the top of the stairs, he was looking at his brothers. Sherlock was crying silently, big fat tears as he stared at his eldest brother. Mycroft turned to face him.

"Why you and our parent insist on lying to him I don't know," Mycroft said as Sherrinford began to march over to him "I was merely…."

Sherrinford punched him, sending him flying into the wall with a thump and Sherlock squeaked. Sherlock could hear their parent's coming and Sherrinford gave Mycroft a swift kick to the ribs causing him to keel over, clutching his face and side.

"How fucking dare you. Our little brothers best friend dies and we tell him a comforting lie. A small white lie that would make him happy, keep him happy for a while, until he's older and could understand better. He is nine Mycroft; he shouldn't have to understand the death of his best friend and constant companion at nine." Sherrinford shouted.

He made to hit him again but Mummy and Daddy were there, talking about hospitals and x-rays. It was a blur but eventually Mummy, Daddy and Mycroft having gone to hospital, a promise of repercussions from Mummy (though she did understand the anger) and orders to watch after Sherlock who had shut himself in his room. Thought the door Sherrinford explained why they had to do it. Redbeard was old for his breed, he was eight, and was in pain. His muscles were always stiff and he found it hard to move but it didn't stop the silly dog from trying to case Sherlock around, trying to protect him. Redbeard had been old and sick. On the last trip to the vet they found out he had liver problems. The kindest thing they could do was to put him to sleep. They hadn't told Sherlock. He would say no. So they lied. Mummy and Daddy told Sherlock that they found a farm where Redbeard would be happy and could care for him so that he wouldn't be in pain. Sherrinford had played along, coming down from university to offer comfort and to aid the lie. Sherlock said he understood. They both knew that wasn't true. Since then the relationship between the brothers had been rocky, but was getting better. Until...

(End of Flashback)

"God Mycroft was a bastard." John exclaimed and Sherlock hummed in agreement.

"But things were getting better between the three of you so..." John trailed off again, losing his nerve.

"So…" Sherlock prompted

"Why have I never met him, or heard of him before now?"

"Two years before I met you, there was an incident. Both Mycroft and I were in a bad situation which we could get out of. Sherrinford made the problem go away. Because of this he had two choices, prison or a mission where he was unlikely to return. Sherrinford would never have made it in prison, not enough to do, nothing to simulate his mind so he chose the latter. After two months all contact ended and I haven't heard anything since." Sherlock told him. He didn't like talking about it, remembering it.

John didn't press for the why Sherlock would tell him later, when he's ready.

"So he died?" John asked though he knew the answer.

"Probably"

"Probably?"

Sherlock smirked and picked up the compass (his grandfathers) from the box and placing it back before replying,

"Sherrinford has the odd habit of defying many rules of probability, the odds of him dying were high, but there was never a body found. I know he is most likely dead and if not there are many terrible reasons why he hasn't or couldn't come back yet but..." Sherlock trailed off.

"You still hope" John finished.

"Idiotic isn't it" Sherlock drawled.

"If I didn't know your I would say yes, but the Holmes's do appear to do the impossible so maybe" John grinned.

"But coming back from the dead" Sherlock said.

John laughed "You managed it."

Sherlock laughed as well "Point taken."

"So it`s not impossible for him to still be alive then, Sherrinford?" John asked.

"The word impossible does not exist for Sherrinford" Sherlock confirmed.

"Hopefully he isn't, he seems like a good guy, I would like to meet him." John said pressing a light kiss against Sherlock's lips.

"I would like that to" Sherlock replied.


End file.
